This woman and my body image
Recently had a really soulful, philosophical discussion with a good friend on a variety of topics across the board. We discussed the fact that both of us have high Charisma scores, and can therefore both be very persuasive, and can guard against others' attempts to persuade us socially with some ease. We use our powers very differently in life, however, this friend and I. Our conversation turned to "Achilles' Heels," the chinks in our armor, the places where our powers are weaker, and don't work as well. I revealed to my friend of some many years something that I was surprised that he didn't know about me, either through observation (difficult) or me telling him (blathermouth that I am): My "Achilles' Heel" is indeed my entire body. I have this truly lucky, wonderful gift of stalwart belief in myself, great self-confidence -- but that only applies to mental or social challenges, not physical ones. If there is any question of the involvement or use of my body, I have very little belief in myself. This isn't merely a polite euphemism for talking about sexual use of my body -- I mean the whole physical enchilada: health, exercise, physical strength, sports, reproduction, and yes, the sexual bits on the road to reproduction.
When I've mentioned this to others in the past, and more often when I mention this to men rather than women, a common response is immediately to point out politely, "You are pretty, you know." I do know, actually. I think I'm "pretty." I think that's kind of an ordinary description for someone a little ahead of median, but not really a head-turner, or a knock-out, or any such more elevated description. I'm pretty. There are many grades below, behind, beneath, worse than merely "pretty," and I'm thankful for an alignment of stars and genetics that gave me this much. I don't do much more with it. I couldn't tell you what's the chicken, and what's the egg here, but I've never been especially vain in the truest sense of that word: I really don't care much what others think about me based on my looks. When I "gussy up," it is usually for me, to my standards, and is almost always about its effect on my outward attitude when in that "costume" than it is about presenting an appearance that others will find pleasing -- This is how someone ends up dying their hair 3 shades of blue and 1 shade of purple, if you wondered how someone makes a choice like that! It makes me happy.
Could I be more than/greater than "pretty"? Sure. With work -- work which I don't care about, and don't want to do... and which, yes, deep down, I question whether the extent to which I'm capable of making vast improvements in prettiness, strength, skinniness, desirability, dexterity, speed, athleticism, or any other word could you apply to the use of the body. I question it. I don't question the rest -- the mental, the social. I know my limits there are only the extent of my effort.
That's all just exposition for this next part, however -- So, back to that recent talk with my good friend. We got talking about what we could or would do if we didn't have these self-imposed limits on our own charisma. What if we truly used our powers for awesome, and not merely for good? If our particular powers are charisma based, and enable us to have this sort of ridiculous belief in ourselves, doesn't it stand up to logic that we could simply choose to "turn off" these limits we've set for ourselves? It makes sense. Couldn't I just wake up one day and decide to believe in myself all the way, own all my strengths, love all my flaws, accept the whole package as part of the wonder of me, and see what happens?
So I kind of did.
It's been about two weeks... I feel truly beautiful. It's been an interesting philosophical exercise in the body images women keep. My highly charismatic friend noted that he hasn't met a women yet who doesn't have some sort of problem with her own body image. If we changed the thing we most thought needed change, we would be unlikely to find happiness -- instead we'd just move on to the next item on our list that we feel "needs" improvement somehow. That really struck me. I knew that intellectually. I guess I never really accepted that on some emotional level, or personally. He's right, though -- it's true. True, and stupid. All people are beautiful. All women are beautiful. I have such high fallootin' ideals that I truly and sincerely hold so deeply, the things taught to all of us from ABC After School Specials about loving the person inside, and not their appearance -- I find such vanity and false worth placed on others' appearances truly distasteful. Women in particular are taught that we need to look like some ideal that is at least professionally sculpted, and in many cases not actually real -- something retouched by artists, or surgically altered at the least. It's all bullshit! IT is bullshit -- but I am real. My jiggles are real. My giant belly is real. My one hip that's always protruded more than the other. The weird little superfluous flappy extra nipple thingee... okay, maybe you didn't need to know that detail! That little black hair that keeps growing out of my chin. My flappy underside of my upper arms. The way my legs turn in at the knees a little bit. My crooked lower teeth. They're all the real deal...
...and so is my infectious, genuine, and easily-attained smile. My incessant and irrepressible giggling. The two navy blue polka-dots in my sage green eyes. The Irishness of my freckles. The particular color of natural deep auburn of my hair that isn't quite brown, and isn't quite red. My cute little toes. My turned-up button nose that I can make wiggle. The little pink birthmark on the back of my right hand. I'm huggable, soft, and cuddly. While we're on that topic, I'm not touchy-feely by disposition. I don't like to hug people I don't know well -- but when I give hugs, I give them like I give my friendship: with total commitment, and genuine glee! I'm a great hugger for those who get my hugs!
In fact, I'm really pretty bad ass overall!
It's about time that my inner perception of what I should look like starts to match my outward perception of how I appear now, the reality, the lovable, beautiful, soft, giggling, jiggling awesome reality.
I think this potential opportunity for real internal unity could quite possibly make me unstoppable in life. That's how I always should have been.
Think about this yourself. What is your Achilles' Heel? What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail? What are you going to do about it?
T$
P.S. Check out my new journal layout. It's got bats!
When I've mentioned this to others in the past, and more often when I mention this to men rather than women, a common response is immediately to point out politely, "You are pretty, you know." I do know, actually. I think I'm "pretty." I think that's kind of an ordinary description for someone a little ahead of median, but not really a head-turner, or a knock-out, or any such more elevated description. I'm pretty. There are many grades below, behind, beneath, worse than merely "pretty," and I'm thankful for an alignment of stars and genetics that gave me this much. I don't do much more with it. I couldn't tell you what's the chicken, and what's the egg here, but I've never been especially vain in the truest sense of that word: I really don't care much what others think about me based on my looks. When I "gussy up," it is usually for me, to my standards, and is almost always about its effect on my outward attitude when in that "costume" than it is about presenting an appearance that others will find pleasing -- This is how someone ends up dying their hair 3 shades of blue and 1 shade of purple, if you wondered how someone makes a choice like that! It makes me happy.
Could I be more than/greater than "pretty"? Sure. With work -- work which I don't care about, and don't want to do... and which, yes, deep down, I question whether the extent to which I'm capable of making vast improvements in prettiness, strength, skinniness, desirability, dexterity, speed, athleticism, or any other word could you apply to the use of the body. I question it. I don't question the rest -- the mental, the social. I know my limits there are only the extent of my effort.
That's all just exposition for this next part, however -- So, back to that recent talk with my good friend. We got talking about what we could or would do if we didn't have these self-imposed limits on our own charisma. What if we truly used our powers for awesome, and not merely for good? If our particular powers are charisma based, and enable us to have this sort of ridiculous belief in ourselves, doesn't it stand up to logic that we could simply choose to "turn off" these limits we've set for ourselves? It makes sense. Couldn't I just wake up one day and decide to believe in myself all the way, own all my strengths, love all my flaws, accept the whole package as part of the wonder of me, and see what happens?
So I kind of did.
It's been about two weeks... I feel truly beautiful. It's been an interesting philosophical exercise in the body images women keep. My highly charismatic friend noted that he hasn't met a women yet who doesn't have some sort of problem with her own body image. If we changed the thing we most thought needed change, we would be unlikely to find happiness -- instead we'd just move on to the next item on our list that we feel "needs" improvement somehow. That really struck me. I knew that intellectually. I guess I never really accepted that on some emotional level, or personally. He's right, though -- it's true. True, and stupid. All people are beautiful. All women are beautiful. I have such high fallootin' ideals that I truly and sincerely hold so deeply, the things taught to all of us from ABC After School Specials about loving the person inside, and not their appearance -- I find such vanity and false worth placed on others' appearances truly distasteful. Women in particular are taught that we need to look like some ideal that is at least professionally sculpted, and in many cases not actually real -- something retouched by artists, or surgically altered at the least. It's all bullshit! IT is bullshit -- but I am real. My jiggles are real. My giant belly is real. My one hip that's always protruded more than the other. The weird little superfluous flappy extra nipple thingee... okay, maybe you didn't need to know that detail! That little black hair that keeps growing out of my chin. My flappy underside of my upper arms. The way my legs turn in at the knees a little bit. My crooked lower teeth. They're all the real deal...
...and so is my infectious, genuine, and easily-attained smile. My incessant and irrepressible giggling. The two navy blue polka-dots in my sage green eyes. The Irishness of my freckles. The particular color of natural deep auburn of my hair that isn't quite brown, and isn't quite red. My cute little toes. My turned-up button nose that I can make wiggle. The little pink birthmark on the back of my right hand. I'm huggable, soft, and cuddly. While we're on that topic, I'm not touchy-feely by disposition. I don't like to hug people I don't know well -- but when I give hugs, I give them like I give my friendship: with total commitment, and genuine glee! I'm a great hugger for those who get my hugs!
In fact, I'm really pretty bad ass overall!
It's about time that my inner perception of what I should look like starts to match my outward perception of how I appear now, the reality, the lovable, beautiful, soft, giggling, jiggling awesome reality.
I think this potential opportunity for real internal unity could quite possibly make me unstoppable in life. That's how I always should have been.
Think about this yourself. What is your Achilles' Heel? What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail? What are you going to do about it?
T$
P.S. Check out my new journal layout. It's got bats!